


Extra Sentinel Perception

by liz_fic



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-05
Updated: 2011-03-05
Packaged: 2017-10-16 03:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/167823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liz_fic/pseuds/liz_fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim struggles with *another* enhanced sense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Extra Sentinel Perception

**Author's Note:**

> Completed 20 June 2003 for the Many Faces of Jim and Blair 3 at MME. Minor edits have been made.

Jim rolled over on his oft-washed baby blue cotton sheets. They used to feel like lying on air-fluffed cotton, but today felt more like scratchy cotton- thorns. Maybe that new detergent, he thought drowsily, trying to bury his head back into the pillows. The scratchiness continued, forcing him into rising. Rubbing his hand across his scalp and down his forehead, Ellison blearily read the clock. Seeing the red digital numbers, he groaned. Mumbling about the ungodliness of getting up at six am on his day off, the CEO of EllCo stretched then attempted to jog downstairs. At the top of the rail, Jim could’ve sworn the first floor was closer. In fact, the stairs were practically touching his cheeks.

Remembering the lessons Incacha had taught in Peru, Jim extended his arm, focusing on the palm, Jim slowly brought his fingertips into view. Grudgingly grateful for the repetitive lessons, Jim managed to make his eyesight behave long enough to reach the kitchen. Opening the jar, he blanched at the overwhelming smell of stale coffee. Tossing the contents of the jar into the garbage, Jim opened a new batch. Smiling at the fresh smell, he continued with his morning routine.

Sight, smell and touch are off, I wonder what’s next? He thought as he stepped into the shockingly hot shower. Adjusting the temperature, Jim paused to take stock of his remaining senses. Taste seemed to be a little elevated, and hearing was a bit higher than normal as well. Either that or he was going to have to give up the Pollo Rosa Maria he’d eaten two days ago, and tell the Andersons to get out of his living room and go back to their place across the street. Breathing deeply, Jim attempted to rein in his wayward senses. At least I don’t have to go into the office today, and there’s plenty of hot water. Jim smiled bitterly. And no Carolyn to complain about saving her enough, Jim thought, although he was mostly relieved their marriage fell apart quickly.

Relaxing into the pelting water, Jim tried to think of anything that would cause his senses to intensify. After a fruitless search of his memories of the last week, Jim finished his clean up, and poured his first cup of the day. Sipping the coffee blissfully, he leaned further into the chair, thinking over his day’s itinerary.

Business lunch with the Chancellor and the fundraiser for Rainier University tonight, God, I hate that woman. The research had better damn well pay off, Ellison thought sourly. I’m not dumping several hundred thousand into the anthropology department for philanthropic reasons. Jim blushed. He’d let the thought of Chancellor Edwards reduce him to parroting his father. Ellison knew the anthropological knowledge gleaned from the Army’s pre- mission briefing had saved his life the day of the crash. To that end, Ellison always donated to the Anthropology department anonymously each year, in addition to the JJE scholarship awarded to one new graduate student, who could demonstrate both financial need and an interesting topic for their dissertation, annually.

The topics had ranged from the medieval woman in Arthurian romance as a tribute to the Virgin Mary, to the possible planetary evolution of life on Mars. Jim preferred to choose the most esoteric topic of the year, provided the application letter proved the graduate student’s dedication to their chosen topic. This year, the winner was a young man named Blair Sandburg, who was studying Sentinels as a live phenomenon in modern day society. Jim didn’t think anyone would make the connection. The scholarship was processed through EllCo.

The history of the JJE endowment was wildly erratic, Ellison was sure the Sentinel thing would be unremarkable among the various topics. Jim smirked; thinking about the morning the paper announced the inception of EllCo’s JJE endowment as well as the first winner. His father had thrown a fit over the ecological, economical, and sociological impact surfing had on Washington’s shores. Of course, William Ellison never had anything to do with EllCo, and therefore never had any control over the funding. But oh how it had hurt the senior Ellison to see money go to such frivolity. Jim snickered, then sobered at the distinct lack of the elder man in his life.

Finishing his coffee with a sigh, Jim washed and dried his cup, placing it back into the cabinet. Checking the refrigerator for food, he saw a few take-out containers and a decidedly obvious lack of eggs or milk. The beer supply was getting low as well. Grabbing his jacket, keys and dropping his cell into its holster, Jim took a moment at the door to make sure his sense levels were at a normal or slightly elevated range. The control was hard won, but the often-terrifying lessons had been worth it to be able to function. Jim shuddered at the memory of the day after the crash. It was horrific, and one of the reasons he was no longer officially a Ranger. The other being the nagging feeling that he’d be involved in the carnage of his former CO and the CIA Liaison assigned to his surreally extended mission in the La Montana region of Peru if he had to deal with them much longer. Ultimately, his self-control prevailed long enough to pacify his annoying conscience.

Irritated at his dismally morbid thoughts, Jim locked the door. Turning, he noticed a note taped to the front door. What the hell? Looking around, Jim noticed pages taped to the other doors as well.

PSYCHIC READINGS  
PALM $5  
AURA $10  
TAROT $20  
FURTHER READINGS NEGOTIABLE  
BY APPOINTMENT ONLY  
WAHOTS  
MATSI  
555-1278  
Must be over 18  
Entertainment purposes only

 

Jim read the note before reaching out, intending to crumple the cream colored stationary. As he touched the edge, his vision whitened out. A laughing young man, an outsider in native gear, danced alongside other young natives by fireside. The firelight danced as well, flitting among those gathered, yet focused on the outsider. The distinctly burning sweetgrass didn’t bother Jim as it had in Incacha’s hut. The sound of their joy, not grating, the sound of their drums, soothing. Jim could feel the heat from the fire, yet also felt the cooling breeze from across the valley. Sweat highlighted the outsider’s face, casting an odd glow in the moonless night. The sweet smile bestowed upon the elder who nodded in the dancing outsider’s direction awed Jim in its purity. The sentinel craved a brief taste. Wait, he looks familiar. The thought jarred him back to the thankfully empty hallway. Jim looked again at the other doors, focusing his sight at the other advertisements, panicked to note the number to the newest pizza place on Prospect.

Jim finished ripping the note off the door, but instead of crumpling it and tossing it away, Jim shoved it gracelessly into his pocket. Leaning into the door and shaking his head until his vision normalized. Jim straightened. Food, I need food. Rationalization firmly in place, Jim trekked to Sascha’s Sweets. Another cup of coffee and three buttermilk donuts later, Jim apprehensively pulled the note out of his pocket. Smoothing the edges, he re-read the page.

SANTONI’S DEEP DISH & PASTA  
10AM-10PM M-F  
555-1374  
(DELIVERY FEE $1 PER ENTRÉE)

 

Jim rubbed his face tiredly. Knowing he’d had plenty of sleep, ate somewhat healthy, and got plenty of exercise; Jim could not explain the paper before him. Flipping the paper over, he briefly perused the various menu items.

Maybe a drive will clear my head, he thought. Tucking the menu back into his pocket, Jim took a sip of his previously untouched water and tossed a few bills on the table. Reaching his old ’69 Ford, Jim smiled at the incongruity of any progeny of William Ellison’s driving a beater.

Ending up at the marina, Jim parked his beloved baby in a spot where she wouldn’t be bothered, and walked down the closest pier. He saw an old acquaintance of sorts. Jack Kelso and Jim Ellison had been travelling in the same circles for many years. Seeing Jack, made Ellison think of the ingenious way Kelso had taken Brackett down back in ’93. Smiling at the image of Brackett in trouble with the very people that allowed his chopper to be taken down, Ellison approached Kelso cautiously.

Jack was speaking on the phone animatedly with another person. Focusing his hearing, and refusing to feel guilty, Ellison shivered at the voice on the other end of the phone. It was the laughing dancer from his vision.

“Jack, I don’t have to worry about Maya. She was deported remember?”

“I don’t have to remind you about her fath—“

“No. No, you don’t Jack.”

“Just be careful. You haven’t even been back in the country twelve hours yet. It’s too early to be that confident with your surroundings. Ok, Blair?” Jack looked up at Jim’s approach. “I gotta go.”

“Okay. Later, man.”

Jack snapped the phone shut. “Captain Ellison. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Civilian now. It’s just Jim.” Jim shrugged innocently. “Actually I was out for a walk. I saw you on the pier and decided it was past time I congratulated you on taking Brackett down in ’93,” Jim chuckled. “The insurgents there sold him to the Cartel, and you don’t know how much I enjoyed hearing about the Cartel selling him back to our boys in black.”

Jack relaxed minutely, chuckling as well. “It really wasn’t that hard. An overconfident jackal like Brackett doesn’t believe he can be caught.” Jack raised an eyebrow in Jim’s direction. “Of course the anonymous message in Quechan sent to the Cartel didn’t hurt. And sticking it to the company…” Jack trailed off with a grin.

“Icing on the cake.” Jim grinned. “Still. It was a good piece of work.”

“Thanks, Jim.” Kelso thawed further. “So how is Cascade treating you? I’m not going to ask if you still have your hands in, once a Ranger, always a Ranger, and all that.”

“Cascade is just fine,” answering the unasked question with a cryptic smile.

“Well, anyway, I need to get back.” Jack pulled out a card from the side pocket in his soft briefcase. Handing it to Jim he said, “Call me if you need anything or want to talk over old times.”

“Sure.” Taking the card, Jim felt the beginning of the semi-familiar whitening out of his vision. Jim stayed focused long enough to smile as Jack turned back towards his vehicle before succumbing to another vision.

Complete darkness. The musty chemical smell of trapped lab coats, and a feeling of claustrophobia. A tense scared voice. “Jack?”

“Shhh.”

“But, Jack.” The voice whined.

“Blair, son, you have to be quiet now.” Jim realized it was Jack’s voice. The other voice belonged to the laughing dancer, older now, and terrified.

“What’s going to happen?”

“We’ll sit here until they get the phone call. They’ll leave. We’ll leave. They’ll be deported. End of story.”

“But Maya…” Jim didn’t like the sound of heartbreak in that voice.

“Shhh. Blair, she’s not worth it. She was working with Francisco. You know that.”

A small sound, a laugh, a sob? Jim couldn’t decide, but Blair began speaking again, “I know. I really thought it would be different.”

“I know, son. Shhh. They’re getting closer.”

Jim snapped back to the present at the deep baleful horns of passing ships. Cursing at the inopportune timing, Jim was relieved that it was Blair on the phone with Jack as he had approached earlier.

Returning to his truck and driving another hour, still no closer to any conclusions further than it could have something to do with the Blair from his visions, Ellison stopped by the University Library. Entering the Special Collections room, Jim stopped in front of the front desk. Seeing the recognition in the young librarian’s eyes, Ellison nodded and slipped into the room containing the collection containing Chopec lore.

Spending two hours coming up with nothing, Jim was ready to destroy the table before him in frustration. Glancing at the previously empty shelf, Jim was surprised to see a manuscript sitting alone on the shelf. Knowing what was about to happen, he still reached for the book with trepidation. He had a brief moment of surprise at the title “Sentinels of Paraguay” before being sucked into another vision.

Jim heard the ticking of a clock. His eyes were blurred, his mouth felt like cotton. His head seriously hurt. It was possible he’d be seeing his breakfast soon. Jim breathed shallowly until the nausea dissipated slightly. Listening more intently, Jim couldn’t detect anyone in the room with him, but there were three people in the next room. Slowly opening his eyes, Jim took in his situation. Untied. Plus. Alone. Plus. I smell gun oil on the three men in the next room. Minus. I’m unarmed. Minus. Windows along the wall above my head. Plus. There’s someone or something up there. I can’t make it out, damn Chloroform screwing with my vision. Minus. Glancing at the clock, Jim continued. 1145 AM. Plus. Voices from the other room saying ‘Whack him already and let’s go to lunch. His place gives me the creeps. Fucking Dog-mice.’ Minus.

Oh fuck! Jim swam back up from his latest vision. Blair was in trouble. How do I know that vision was from today? What if it was for tomorrow? Speculation isn’t going to help Blair. Making a quick decision, Jim grabbed his cell, dialing a number from memory.

“Ellison.”

“Stevie,” The older man sighed, “It’s Jim.”

“What’s up, bro?”

“I need you to take the Edwards lunch today.”

“Are you serious?” Stephen laughed. “No way, Jimmy! Just because the CPD beat the Fire Department in the charity baseball game, I still don’t owe you that much!”

“Look, Stevie.” Glancing around surreptitiously, Jim lowered his voice. “Something weird is going on, ok? I need to run an errand. I’ll still meet you tonight.”

Jim could hear his little brother clearing his throat before lowering his voice as well, “Is it your senses?”

“Yeah, I think it is.” Jim sighed. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but I don’t want to deal with that bitch the way things are. Weird shit has been happening all morning.” Jim glanced at his watch, a quarter to eleven. Shit! “Look, Stevie. I gotta go.”

“Ok. Still the Chasemont?” Stephen asked, as his brother grabbed the book he’d forgotten he even owned. Signing the form stating he was taking his own property back impatiently, Ellison glared at the librarian.

“It’s procedure, Mr. Ellison.”

“I own the damn book, Celia.”

“Just one more, initial here.” She quickly handed him his copy, glad to be out of his way.

Jim tried an apologetic smile. It came out pained. He returned to his conversation with Stephen. “Yes, but don’t offer her any more money. We already spend a fortune at Rainier. Bye, Stevie.” Jim glanced at his watch. Five minutes had passed. He began to run. Catching the door on the out swing, he almost clocked Chancellor Edwards.

“Mr. Ellison, it’s so good to see you, you’re early—“

“Have to go.” Ellison rushed past her.

“Mr. Ellison?”

Jim didn’t reply. Tossing the book into the passenger seat, he dialed the number on the card Kelso had given him earlier.

“Kelso.”

“Jack, it’s Jim.”

“Jim, this is sudden. Something you want?”

“Look, I need to know where Blair lives.”

Jim could hear the suspicion in Jack’s voice, as well as the sudden spike in his heart rate. “How do you know Sandburg?”

“Sandburg? Blair Sandburg is who you were talking to earlier?”

“Why?”

Receiving his answer in the erratic beating of the man’s heart, Jim replied, “Look, I already have his address. You don’t hear from me in two hours, call the cops and have ‘em go in. Simon Banks preferably, he’s captain of Major Crimes, and a good friend.”

“I can’t believe I’m trusting you with Blair.”

“Look, Jack,” Jim took another hairpin turn, “you’ve seen my record. You’ve probably seen the other information as well. I won’t hurt Blair.”

“Two hours, Ellison.” Jim could hear Jack take a deep breath before continuing, “Then I call Banks, then I come after you myself.”

“Deal.” Jim parked haphazardly in front of 852 Prospect. Slapping the phone shut, Ellison tossed it next to the monograph. Jim hurried into his loft, flipping through his paperwork to make sure of the warehouse apartment’s address before grabbing the continuously packed black duffel from the storage room’s closet shelf.

Tossing the duffel into the passenger seat with its other occupants, Ellison shoved the truck into reverse. Glancing at his watch, he had thirty-five minutes to get to Blair. Taking a deep breath, he only sped a little, not wanting to be delayed by a traffic cop, knowing that Blair was counting on him. Even if Blair didn’t know it yet.

Adjusting the straps to his various weaponry and equipment, Ellison checked his location again. In and out, ten minutes tops. Plenty of time before they try— Jim didn’t want to finish that thought. Pushing the dumpster a few feet forward to partially hide his idling truck. Smiling at the loud machinery in the background, unless someone was looking for his truck specifically, they’d never find it.

Climbing up the wall with the grapnel rope, Jim peered through the break in the window. It was just as his vision except Blair hadn’t regained consciousness. Splitting his focus between the rope in his hands and the men in the far room, more of a foyer really, Jim listened to their conversation.

“Look, Francisco said to do him here.”

“Francisco isn’t here, man. He was deported!”

“He still has people here.”

“*We’re* his people here, puta.”

“Shut up, bitch! We do him here.”

“Whack him already and let’s go to lunch!”

“His place gives me the creeps.”

“Fucking dog-mice.”

Oh shit! Jim glanced at Blair, eyes wide, heart beating madly. Not having time for anything else, Jim locked his equipment and pulled his sidearm. Focusing intently, he took three shots as the men came into Blair’s area, guns drawn. Fuck! He’d wanted to at least be inside before he needed to discharge his weapon. Shit! What a mess.

Ellison dialed another number from memory.

“Banks.”

“I need that favor.”

“Shit.”

“You owe me.”

“Fuck, Ellison. What’s going on?”

“I’m in the warehouse district. I’ve got three armed home invaders down. The trajectory’s all wrong. It was the only way to save Sandburg.”

“They’re armed?” Jim could almost hear the wheels turning. “And they’re in his place? How is he?”

“Groggy. Probably Chloroformed.”

“I’m on it. Get into the house and cozy up, take only the weapon that discharged with you—“

Jim cut him off, stuffing his equipment gruffly into the duffel, then shoved the duffel into the broken window ledge. “I’m not stupid, Simon. If I would’ve had time, this would’ve been another unsolved and you’d never find Sandburg again unless he wanted to be found.”

“Just let me do my job, Captain America.” Simon hung up the phone. Jim grinned.

Crawling through the window, Jim dropped down to a crate. Pulling a dividing bedsheet from its perch along a rope, Jim performed rudimentary first aid for the captors. He made his way steadily to the young man lying on his couch. Keeping half an eye on the downed men, Jim reached for Blair’s shoulder. “Blair.”

“Jim?”

Jim couldn’t hide his shock. “How did you know who I am?”

“Dreamed it a few minutes ago before it happened.” Blair had trouble focusing. “In my head, in the window, plusses and minuses.”

Jim sat on the couch, tilting Blair into more of a comfortable position half in his lap. Snickering inwardly, he was going to remind Simon that he did say to get cozy. Checking the three intruder’s vitals, Jim was pleased that they were still out cold.

He refused to freak out about the whole situation. Now was not the time. Simon was on his way and Blair was asleep again. Grabbing his cell, Jim dialed Jack’s number.

“All clear. Blair’s been chloroformed. He’ll be ok though.”

“Good. What happened?”

“From what I can tell, it was some guy named Francisco’s men. Amateurs. Probably off the street. All are out cold.”

“Thought you used a Beretta?”

“Not this time. Specialty Tranq gun with modified rounds.”

“Ah. Your supplier?”

“No way. It’s too early in the friendship for that.”

“I got Brackett off your back.”

“He was also on yours, no dice.”

“Ah well, can’t blame me for trying.”

“Nope.”

“Tell Blair to call me later.”

“Done.” Jim hung up the phone. He was beginning to like Jack, ex-Spook that he was.

Three days later found Jim back in Blair's apartment. The Burton monograph sitting beside Blair like an old friend, while Jim focused between his clasped hands and the pages stuffed between the books under Blair's coffee table.

“You have a gift, man.” Blair shrugged. “How can you not use it?”

“I’m not sure I like this gift.” Jim replied hotly. “I can’t control it most of the time. What if I have a,” Jim paused as if swallowing something sour, “vision when I’m driving? Or in front of the board? Or worse? How am I going to function like this?”

“Look, all it takes is control.” Blair didn’t comment on Ellison’s priorities, deciding to take on the problem obliquely. “I can help you with that. Burton vaguely mentions the sixth sense, but between his book and my tribal research, I do have theories.”

“Well, Darwin.” Jim settled more firmly into the couch, looking across to the young man from each of his earliest visions. “I guess you’d better start explaining.”

“Okay, look, I know you’ve read the introduction in my application letter.” Jim blushed at the reminder that Blair knew exactly who he was. “It wasn’t that hard, Jim. It’s not like you covered your tracks very well.”

“What?”

“JJE? EllCo?” Blair snorted. “The founder and CEO of EllCo is James Joseph Ellison? C’mon!”

“Fine, Chief. You know who I am.” Jim sighed. “Can we get on with it?”

“You had trouble paying attention in school didn’t you?”

“Sandburg!”

“Right, right!” Blair leaned closer. “Look, Jim, it’s just like your other senses. How did you learn to control them?”

Jim shuddered. “No.”

“What?”

“I’m not learning that way again.”

“Jim.”

“No.”

At the glare he received, Blair relented. “Ok, so we need a new way. Hmmm… Why don’t you think of it like a TV? You pick up the remote and change the channel. And sometimes with the older sets, you have to adjust the antenna to fine tune the reception, right?”

“Ok, I can go with that. Now what?”

“Now we practice. Pick up that hat.”

“It’s an obnoxious hat, Chief. I’d have thought you’d have better style, flannel notwithstanding.”

“It’s my mother’s, Jim.” Blair replied coolly. “Pick it up.”

“Fine.” Jim picked the wide brimmed yellow and red polka-dotted sun hat. Concentrating on the hat, Jim felt the familiar tug of a vision. This time there wasn’t any white out, just imagery like a memory. Only this wasn’t a memory he’d ever had. “She’s lying on the beach listening to the gulls and the waves. A hermit crab is tugging on her toe. Someone named Thomas is asking her if she likes Hawaii. What else?”

“That’s great! Wow! Oh, man!” Blair bounced onto Jim’s couch with a cigar case. “Try this one.”

“I can tell that’s Simon’s without even touching it.”

“Yeah. So.” Blair put the case into Jim’s hands. “That doesn’t mean you know what he’s doing. Try it.”

Jim wasn’t getting anything. “I’m not getting anything.”

“Relax, maybe you’re trying too hard.” Blair placed his hand on Jim’s forearm. “Try again.”

Jim closed his eyes and saw the sight of a dark hand brushing Little Stogie down from his last run. A quick glance at the twenty-year watch showed it was three hours from now. “I’m getting further ahead in the future, Chief!”

“What? What did you see?”

“Three hours from now, Simon will be brushing Little Stogie down from his run.”

“That’s great, Jim.”

“Yeah.” Jim looked down. “But how do I make it stop when I want it to?”

“I don’t think it works that way, Jim.” Blair placed his hand on Jim’s knee. “Remember when you were first learning to filter things out?”

The bodies, the stench, every one of my men dead, oh god! Jim curled further inward.

“Jim.” Blair squirmed in between Jim’s arms. “Jim. Jim, look at me. Focus on my voice. Feel where our skin touches. Smell my shampoo. C’mon, man, don’t zone on a sense memory. That one’s gotta be bad.”

Jim leaned into Blair gratefully, anything to replace that horror. “It was bad, Blair.”

“Okay, but you can filter things out now, right?”

“Yes.”

“It’s the same principle.” Blair didn’t move from his perch. “You filter out the stimuli you don’t currently need. It doesn’t mean the stimulus is gone, it’s just easier to ignore.”

“Ok.”

“Here.” Blair handed Jim a glass. “Try this one.”

Jim received multiple images, each one fighting for attention. The pain in his face prompted Blair to speak, “Ok, Jim, focus and weed out one of the owners.”

Jim directed his thoughts into a fine point and cut the first layer away. Repeating the process with the second layer, Jim was left with an old woman. “I see an old woman. She’s baking bread and sugar cookies.”

“Good, good.”

“She’s sad though. She’s lost her wedding ring.” Jim’s mouth dropped open. “I can see the ring, Blair. It’s fallen behind a drawer in her dresser.”

“That’s terrific!”

“I’ll be right back.” Blair opened the loft door, left for a few moments and returned.

“You’re amazing Jim!” Blair bounced over to the couch, resuming his position in Jim’s arms.

“Why?”

“Mrs. Anderson’s mother is the one who lost the wedding ring, and it was exactly where you said it was.”

Jim didn’t know what to say. His experience with Blair notwithstanding, it was one thing to play at having a sixth sense. It was an entirely different thing to prove it.

“Here, Jim.” Blair handed Jim a native bracelet. “Try this one.”

Blair. Someone was kissing Blair. Jim felt an irrationally jealousy until he saw the person kissing Blair. Then he felt silly, and happy, and what the hell, Jim leaned into Blair and kissed him. He could learn to like this extra sentinel perceptions stuff.

**Author's Note:**

> If you felt disjointed, then it came across correctly--I wanted the reader to feel the abruptness and craziness that Jim feels with the 'new' sense. Also, this was originally going to be the beginning of a series of sorts.


End file.
